


There’s a Bathroom on the Right

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s01e06 The Cloud, F/M, Proto P/T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 21:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14173968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: An ode to misinformation and misunderstandings. Because while B’Elanna’s pain hurts me, Tom’s is somehow amusing.





	There’s a Bathroom on the Right

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to CCR.
> 
> Also, an extremely soft M. Such a soft M. Sorry. Next time!

_I see a bad moon a-rising_  
_I see trouble on the way_  
_I see earthquakes and lightnin'_  
_I see bad times today_

He was standing too close as she lined up on the ball, seriously breaching her personal boundaries. She drew back her cue to take the shot, and her elbow grazed his gut. It was incredibly tempting to plant it there, with force, but Chakotay had warned her and she knew how important it was to him for the two crews to get along. The two crews and Paris, who was an island unto himself. So. Fine. She wouldn’t maim him. As long as he backed the hell off. 

He’d been scrutinizing her all night, watching her play, likely watching her ass while she played, and she’d had just about enough of it. He didn’t even have the decency to hide his smirk. But she wasn’t going to let him throw her. 

She snapped off the shot, quick, decisive, with just… too much power. The twelve spun on its axis like a child’s toy gyro, then flew into the corner with a little too much speed, ricocheting off the sides before rolling toward the center of the table. It tapped the five nudging it just enough to set Tom up to sink it in the center pocket. Damn. 

She straightened, and her shoulder brushed his chest. Tom looked down at her and grinned, then slid his long body between her and the table and bent over. His ass cheek knocked her hip. He took a step toward her, crowding her even more, and she jumped back. 

Gaunt Gary had wandered up to Tom’s other side and he gestured toward the table. “It’s over for you tonight, doll,” he observed. B’Elanna ignored him. 

Tom lined up the shot, then sunk it with a decisive tap on the cue ball. He straightened, walked behind B’Elanna brushing her shoulder with his upper arm, and pointed with his stick. “Eight ball in the corner pocket,” he said. 

The eight was dispatched with the same skill and brevity as the five, and Tom propped his cue against the table, then turned and leaned his rump against it, folding his arms, and stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. “If my math is right, Torres, that’s five replicator rations you owe me. Enough for a nice dinner tomorrow night in my quarters.”

 

_Don't go 'round tonight_  
_It's bound to take your life_  
_There's a bad moon on the rise_

 

She slammed her cue back onto the rack. “I hope you choke on it,” she snipped.

Tom grinned. “Well, I wasn’t planning on eating it alone. I thought I’d ask you to join me.”

She turned and stared at him, wishing she was still holding the long wooden pole. “You thought?” she asked.

“I’m deciding,” he said. 

“Well hurry up and ask, so I can turn you down.” She smiled sweetly at him and folded her arms across her chest.

Tom stood and walked the two steps right up into her personal space. “Oh, I’ve already made up my mind that I’m going to ask you,” he said quietly into her ear. “I was deciding whether to treat you like a lady, or a tramp.” His (okay, pretty, blue) eyes twinkled at her, and he grinned in self-satisfied amusement. 

B’Elanna uncrossed her arms and placed one hand over his heart. She took a step toward him, so her breasts were brushing his chest, and trailed her other hand down his ribs to his belly and lower. He smiled and moved his hands to her waist. She stood on her toes, and brushed his jaw with her cheek as she tilted her head to whisper in his ear. Her hand closed over his groin. “Well, here’s another decision for you, Paris. Which one do you like best, the right, or the left?”

His eyes bugged, and he sucked a breath, and despite the wash of fear and his best efforts, his penis jumped to attention in her hand. She frowned, and his stupid penis didn’t mind at all. _This was how Klingons flirted, right?_

B’Elanna scowled at him and snatched her hand away from his groin, and shoved him away from her. Tom fell back a step and smacked into his pool stick, sending it clattering to the floor. She spun on her heel and headed toward the holodeck door, throwing one more glare over her shoulder before exiting. 

Tom just stared at the empty space where she used to be, and chuckled and shook his head. He counted to thirty then followed her out. 

 

_I hear hurricanes a-blowing_  
_I know the end is coming soon_  
_I fear rivers over flowing_  
_I hear the voice of rage and ruin_

 

“Did you see that?” Mariah Henley leaned over the small table and gaped at her companions. Chell was speechless, and he turned his head and caught her eye. His mouth was hanging mutely open, and his eyes were round with wonder. 

Doyle whistled. “Did she just grab his…?” he asked.

“Uh huh.” Henley’s eyes lit with delight. 

Jonas frowned. “I dunno. From where I’m sitting, she looked a little pissed.”

“She always looks pissed,” Henley said. “It’s the forehead.”

“He asked her to dinner in his quarters tomorrow night,” Chell said. “Then she grabbed him and kissed him!” He chortled with glee. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” Hogan answered. “It looked like she said something to him.”

“She probably told him to dress casual, _really casual_ ,” Henley drawled. “This is soooo good!”

Dalby walked in and wandered over to their table. “Anybody want a game?” Mariah grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty chair. 

“You. Won’t believe. What just happened.” Her eyes bugged out and she was practically bouncing in her seat. 

“I dunno,” Doyle hedged, “maybe you shouldn’t spread this around until we’re sure.”

Henley and Chell both turned their heads to stare at him. “We know what we saw,” Henley said.

“And what we heard,” Chell added. “This is unbelievable.”

 

_Don't go 'round tonight_  
_It's bound to take your life_  
_There's a bad moon on the rise_

 

“Sure, she looks like trouble, but I’m telling you Harry, once you’re inside her, she purrs like a kitten.”

“I dunno. She looks like a killer to me.”

“You just have to know how to handle her type. When to stroke her, when to push. Believe me, most of em need a hard ride. Shakes the bugs out.”

Tom and Harry turned the corner, heading for the mess. Tom said “hi” to Telfer and Tal Celes, who were standing together whispering. They both tracked him with their eyes as he passed by. 

“If you say so,” Harry replied. “I prefer something a little more stable.”

Tom clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, you just need more experience, Harry.” They entered the messhall and lined up to grab a tray at the counter. “The last I flew was an XP-38, but I liked the old X-34 better.”

“Of course you did,” Harry replied. “I still prefer a nice, roomy type six shuttle to a flying coffin, but you fly what you like.”

Tom grinned. “Morning, Neelix, what's new?”

Neelix narrowed his eyes. “Good morning, Lieutenant. I’ve made a stew with leola root and kraspan leaves. It’s quite tasty, if I say so myself.” He eyed Tom up and down. 

“Stew for breakfast. That’s unusual,” Tom replied. 

“There’s a lot of that going around this morning,” Neelix said. He placed bowls of stew on their trays along with a couple mugs of coffee substitute and the Delta Quadrant version of an apple. “Your breakfast is gamma shift’s dinner.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Harry remarked.

“Yes,” Neelix agreed. “I find I’m thinking of a lot of things differently this morning.” He eyed Tom suspiciously. 

Tom just stared at him for a beat, then smiled and followed Harry to a table. He nodded at Fitzpatrick and Doyle, and, was it his imagination or did they both shut up as soon as he looked at them?

Actually, the volume in the room had dropped noticeably as Tom had waited at the counter, but it was beginning to pick up again now that he was seated. And a lot of people were shooting glances his way. His, he was sure, not Harry’s. He squinted and looked around. “What’s going on?”

“Huh?” Harry asked. 

“...on the pool table! And who knows how many times?” 

_What was that?_ Tom twitched. 

“No way! At least it’s a new one every time we run the programme.”

There was a whoop of laughter, and Tom flinched. _What the hell was going on?_

“...heard they’ve been seeing each other all along, since the Maquis. All this was just for show.”

This time Tom spun in his chair. “Who are they talking about?” he asked.

“Huh?” 

“Harry!” Tom frowned. “Something’s going on. Something’s going around. Haven’t you been listening?” Jetal and Nicoletti passed their table on their way out the door, and Jetal looked Tom up and down in obvious appraisal. 

“Hey, Sue, Ahni.” Harry sent them a finger wave. 

“Harry,” Nicoletti acknowledged. She looked at Tom, looked away. 

“Okay, I’m starting to get officially paranoid,” Tom said. 

“What? Why?”

Tom glanced around again. More than one person shifted their gaze. “They’re talking about me, Harry, and I don’t know why.”

Harry stared at him, hard, and swallowed a mouthful of stew. “You’re paranoid.”

“Sure.” He glanced behind him wishing he’d chosen a chair with his back to the wall. When he faced forward again Seska was there, in his face, Henley beside her. 

“I don’t believe it, Paris. If it were true, I’d’ve known. I just don’t understand why you’re spreading it.”

“Seska.” He modulated his tone to its most irritating and smarmy. “How nice to see you. You look lovely as always. Care to join us?” He motioned to the empty seat beside Harry. 

“She won’t let you get away with this, you know,” she hissed at him. “And I hope I’m there when she rips your balls off!” She glared at him and flounced away. Henley smirked and followed her.

“Tell me again about your masterful way with women,” Harry deadpanned. 

 

_I hope you got your things together_  
_I hope you are quite prepared to die_  
_Looks like we're in for nasty weather_  
_One eye is taken for an eye_

 

“He said _what_?!”

“I knew it wasn’t true,” Seska crowed. “But it’s all around the ship. _Every_ one’s talking about you.” 

B’Elanna growled. She’d noticed her staff had seemed distracted today, whispering and suddenly becoming very busy when she walked by. Damnit! It was hard enough getting the ‘fleeters to respect her and now this? “What are they saying?” 

“What do you think they’re saying?” Seska crossed her arms over her chest, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “He must have a death wish.” 

“Oh, I won’t kill him. That’s far too quick. But I will make him sorry he was born.” B’Elanna’s eyes flashed with temper and she prowled the upper engineering deck, looking for something, or someone, to hit. “Of all the stupid, infuriating— Why would he do that?”

Seska grinned. “For the attention.” She shrugged. “Maybe he likes pain.”

“I’ll make him hurt all right!” B’Elanna bellowed. “I’ll hit him so hard, he’ll reach the Alpha Quadrant before the rest of us.”

Seska laughed and followed B’Elanna as she headed toward the door. “Can I watch?” 

B’Elanna looked up at the ceiling. “Computer, locate Lieutenant Paris.”

:Lieutenant Paris is in the messhall, deck two:

“I hope he enjoys his meal,” B’Elanna growled. “It’ll be the last one he eats with his own teeth!” She stomped out the door and headed for the turbolift, the sound of Seska’s laughter trailing along the corridor behind her.

By the time she got there, he was gone, of course, but Harry was sitting at a table finishing his lunch. “Where is he?” she demanded. 

“Hey, Maquis, what’s up?” Harry frowned. “Where’s who?”

“Paris, who else?” she snarled. She noticed that her entrance had caused a _stir_ , and she glanced around the room staring down the few who dared to hold her gaze. 

“Um, I dunno. I think he said something about grabbing a padd from his quarters. He forgot to hand in his conn report and apparently Lieutenant Rollins gets really—”

B’Elanna roared in frustration and spun on her toes, headed back the way she came. “Thanks!” she threw over her shoulder. 

Harry threw up his hands in surrender. “What’s wrong with everybody today?”

 

_Oh don't go 'round tonight_  
_It's bound to take your life_  
_There's a bad moon on the rise_  
_There's a bad moon on the rise_

 

It took no small amount of effort to track him down, including asking the computer where he was every thirty seconds, running through the corridors, and crawling through a Jefferies tube. But B’Elanna was sure she had him. Lift seven-beta. He was in there, and he was headed straight for her. 

She called for the ‘lift and paced, waiting for it to arrive. Patience wasn’t one of her virtues. When the doors opened, she drew back her shoulders, straightening to her full, puny, height, and tilted her head at a defiant angle, jutting out her chin. She had him now! 

He was standing in the back of the ‘lift, in the centre, as if he owned the place. He was reading from a padd which he held in his right hand, and he didn’t bother to look up when the ‘lift stopped and the doors opened. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. B’Elanna stood there, just in range of the sensor, preventing the doors from closing. She was fuming. 

Finally, he did look up. “Oh, hey, Torres.” He stared at her, then he _looked_ at her, and his eyes showed shock and no small amount of apprehension. “Um...what’s...ahh…” he tried. 

B’Elanna roared into the turbolift, and Tom attempted to step back, but he came up against the rear wall. She reached for him, grabbing fistfulls of his uniform and hauled him up onto his toes. The jumpsuit had rucked up, and Tom wondered if anyone had ever been castrated by fabric before. He was too stunned to even think about defending himself. “What the hell?!” he squawked. 

She snarled at him, and shoved her face close to his, biting off her words. “How _dare_ you,” she breathed. “How dare you tell people we’ve… we’re…” She shook him, smacking his head against the side of the ‘lift, then tossed him away from her. He hit the wall with his shoulders and back, not his head, but it still hurt. 

“What are you talking about, Torres? Have you gone crazy?” He rubbed the back of his head, making his hair stick up.

“Everyone’s talking about us,” she raged. “It’s all over the ship!”

Tom shook his head, trying to reign in his own temper. “What are they saying?” He kept some distance between them, and took a step back when she jabbed a finger at him. 

“As if you don’t know!”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask!” He took a breath, lowered his voice. “Are they talking about you losing your shirt last night?”

She narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t lost her shirt at pool last night, but to hear some speak, she had certainly been undressed. He grinned at her, and she saw red. She felt herself flush with heat, was certain that her face had taken on that ruddy colour she hated, and she heard a roaring in her ears. If he hadn’t smirked like that, if his tone hadn’t carried that smug twang that she so despised, she may have been able to control her temper. Maybe. But instead, she seemed to observe herself from a distance as she balled her fingers into a fist (thumb outside, as Chakotay had taught her) and swung at him starting from her toes, up her body, and along her arm. She connected with his jaw (snapping her arm back as soon as she landed the punch) and he flew backward, striking the side wall of the turbolift and sliding down it to land in a heap on the floor. 

“What the hell?!” he repeated. Tom’s vision went dark and the turbolift seemed to bounce. He flailed his arms for a moment before he regained his balance and sat up and opened his eyes. It was then that he realized that the world hadn’t gone dim for just him. The lights in the ‘lift came back on, but they had a ruby glow. He could hear the muffled sound of an alarm klaxon, but that wasn't his first concern right now. He brought a cautious hand to his jaw and touched it warily, then opened his mouth a centimetre. Ow. He slid his jaw to one side, then the other, tapped his teeth together tentatively, all the while cupping his chin. His fingers probed a stinging patch of skin at the point of his jaw and he hissed in pain. She’d broken the skin.

“You’re insane,” he muttered. He’d snickered when he’d heard about her punching out Joe Carey. She was tiny, short and scrawny, and might have weighed sixty kilos soaking wet. But holy crap, did she pack a punch! “...the hell was that for?” he slurred.

B’Elanna was ignoring him. “No,” she said. “Deck twelve.” There was no response. She tapped her combadge. “Torres to engineering.” Nothing. Tom tried his, not really expecting it to work. _Well, isn’t this lovely,_ he thought. 

B’Elanna clenched her hands into fists again, and Tom flinched, but she brought them to her forehead and thumped her temples. “Careful,” he muttered, “you pack quite a wallop.”

She looked at him with loathing in her eyes, then tried her combadge again. “Give it up,” he said, “they’re down.”

“Give it up? Give it up?! I’m supposed to just be stuck in here with you?”

Tom shrugged. The ship wasn’t shuddering. They’d dropped out of warp, but weren’t taking fire. The alarm had stopped. From where he sat, they were doing better than awful. He watched her pace, then grab at the doors and try to heave them apart. He raised an eyebrow. Good luck with that, they were magnetically sealed, and while she was strong, he didn’t think she was _that_ strong. 

“We could be here for a while, why don’t you sit down?” She scowled at him and resumed pacing. Tom inhaled slowly. Exhaled. “You know, I’m not overly fond of small spaces, and your prowling around makes this place seem even smaller than it is.”

“You’re claustrophobic?” She looked like it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “You live in a starship, travelling through space. The only breathable atmosphere is what we create, and you’re claustrophobic?”

Tom shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids. “Thank you. Thanks for reminding me that I live in a giant, flying coffin.”

“Sorry,” she said. She sounded like she was, too. He felt her slide down the wall and collapse beside him. She tapped her combadge again. No chirp. 

Tom glanced over at her. She’d brought her knees up to her chest and had her arms draped over them. “You wanna tell me what all this is about?” But he had an idea. Even the bridge crew—sans the captain and Chakotay—had sent him funny looks this morning. 

“There are...rumours going around. About us.” She snapped her head up and stared at him. “Are you going to tell me you didn’t start them?”

He cocked his head at her, biting (metaphorically) down on his outrage. “Yeah, I’m going to tell you that, because it’s true! Why the hell would I spread gossip about us, B’Elanna?”

“I…” she paused, flashed him a look, looked back down at her knees, “I don’t know. I didn’t really think about that.”

“No kidding,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry.” She reached for his chin and he fought the urge to flinch. She trailed her fingers along his cheeks, his jaw, the point of his chin. She winced and he watched her nose wrinkle adorably. _Had he lost his mind?_ “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” he lied. His skin felt hot and swollen, and he’d cut his tongue on his teeth. He thought his jaw was beginning to stiffen. He was certain it was beginning to bruise. 

“So people are talking about us, so what? They have to talk about someone.”

“So what?” She looked at him like he was an idiot. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to get my staff to respect me? To get them to work as one, cohesive unit! To trust each other! To trust me?!”

 _Nope_ he thought, he had no idea. He’d never given it a thought. But he was beginning to understand her anger. He reached up and pulled at the zipper on his jumpsuit. It was getting warm, and he briefly wondered if the air exchange had gone out. Nope! Nope, he was _not_ going to think about that. There was lots of air in here. Heaps of air. Tons of air! He gulped a breath and held it until he felt his face grow crimson, then he expelled it in a rush. 

He sat up suddenly and pulled his arms out of the jumpsuit sleeves, and practically tore off his grey turtleneck. B’Elanna stared at him. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. 

“It’s hot in here,” he said (screeched), and concentrated on schooling his breathing. 

“It’s a little warm,” she conceded. 

“Yeah, well, Klingons might enjoy hellish temperatures but Terrans like things a little cooler.” 

“I agreed with you that it's warm in here,” she snarled. He looked closer, and noticed sweat beading along her brow ridges and her hairline. 

“For God’s sake, B’Elanna, take off your shirt!” She shot him a look, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, and he sighed. “You know what I mean.”

She unzipped her jumpsuit and shrugged it off her shoulders, then reached for the hem of her shirt. “Do you think anyone’s missed us?” 

He watched her stretch, elongating her torso as she tugged the shirt up her body and over her head, watched her pull her arms free and drop it to the deck, then run a hand up her throat, under her chin, along her jaw to her hairline. She brushed her palm over her forehead gathering the sweat that had collected there, then scrubbed her hand clean on her thigh. She looked amazingly great in an undershirt. 

“Do you think anyone’s missed us?” she repeated.

He thought, that on the off chance that anyone had noticed they were both gone, they’d likely assumed they were together and naked. But he wasn’t about to tell her that!

“Of course they have. I'm sure they’re looking for you right now.” 

She flashed him a crooked smile. “No one’s looking for you?” 

He smiled back, his eyes warm, his tone liquid honey. “They’re probably relieved I’m out of their hair.” And she smiled at him again, genuine warmth lighting her face. He heard a _hum_ and a _whoosh_ and felt the air in the turbolift start to move. “Finally,” he said. 

He stood and reached toward the vent, and his fingers felt heat. Not the warmth of the stale air in the ‘lift being pushed by a clean, cool breeze, heat. Forty degree heat, blowing in through the vent. And he was warm before. “No,” he said. “No no no no!”

“What is it?” B’Elanna jumped to her feet. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s hot air,” he whined. “It’s blowing hot air.” 

“What?” She stretched as far as she could reach, but even standing on her toes her hand was still a good thirty centimetres from the grill. Tom smothered a laugh. “What’s so damn funny?” she snapped. 

He shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.” He sat back down on the floor; he was feeling a little light headed. She slumped back down beside him and closed her eyes and thumped her head against the wall. Then she did it again. Tom glanced at her, then toed his ‘fleet boots off, and bent his knees so he could strip off his socks. He stretched his legs back out (he had a good ten centimetres clearance before he would hit the doors) and wiggled his toes. He glanced up to find her watching him. “Try it,” he said. “I feel cooler already.”

She sighed dramatically, but followed suit, pulling off her boots and stripping off her socks. She wadded them into a ball and tucked them inside the right boot. She had nice feet, he decided. Small and slender, with red painted toenails. Who would have guessed? He watched her gather up her hair and lift it off the back of her neck. She had a very attractive neck, too. And a really pretty jawline. And that mouth. Wow. 

He looked away. 

“If you didn’t…” she sighed. “If you didn’t start the rumor, who did?”

“Who knows,” Tom said. _Who cares_ , he thought. He wiped sweat from his forehead, spiking his hair and making it stand straight up. “We weren’t exactly alone in the holodeck last night.”

“No, we weren’t. And if you hadn’t put on that little exhibition, none of this would have happened!” She was pissed off all over again, remembering how he’d crowded her last night. How suggestive it must have looked. Was. 

“I wanted to win,” he shrugged. “I was trying to psych you out. It worked.”

“Well, don’t do it again.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not the one who grabbed someone else by the…”

“Oh my God!” Her hands flew to her mouth, and she closed her eyes and thumped herself in the forehead again. “This is all my fault. I did this to myself.” 

“The hell with it,” Tom said. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jumpsuit and started to skin it down his hips. 

“What are you doing?” she yelped.

“Slowly dying of heat exhaustion,” he answered. He kicked his legs free and shoved the jumpsuit into the corner with his foot. “This is so much better,” he said, flopping back against the wall.

She was staring at him. He was too thin, and incredibly pale, but he had nicely muscled arms and shoulders, and crisp, curling reddish gold hair on his chest peeking above the collar of his undershirt. His legs were long, also nicely muscled, but his feet were funny-looking. All feet were funny-looking, she decided. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and she registered that she was vaguely disappointed that he was wearing ‘fleet issued grey boxer-briefs. It also registered that she was staring at his crotch. 

She snapped her eyes up to his face to find him staring at her, amusement in his eyes. “Can I help you with something,” he asked. 

She scowled, and noticed that his hair had begun to stick to his face and neck in sweat-slicked curls. 

“Just take it off,” he said.

“What?”

“Your uniform. It’s hot and itchy. Just take it off, I won’t look.” _Unlike some people_ , he thought. 

She stared at the vent in the ceiling willing it to start pumping cold air. It didn’t. 

“For God’s sake, B’Elanna, you’re dripping. You’re making me hot just looking at you.” She snapped her head around to frown at him, and he laughed. “You know what I mean.”

She did, and she was. She could feel a runnel of sweat running between her breasts and down her abdomen. “Fine,”she said. “But don’t look.” He blinked at her, and turned his head. 

She quickly shoved her uniform over her hips almost taking her panties with it, (black, because fuck ‘fleet regs) and pulled her legs free. She dumped the jumpsuit at her side, making sure she could reach her combadge easily, then she rolled her undershirt up until it ended just under her breasts. It was soaked, and uncomfortable, but she could hardly take it off! She looked up to find Tom studying her. “Paris!” she yelped.

He blinked at her. “Mea culpa,” he said. She glared. “You’re gorgeous, Torres. You can’t strip almost naked in front of a guy and expect him not to notice.” A bead of sweat was winding its way down his back, between his shoulder blades, and he rubbed his back on the wall in an attempt to scratch it. He sat up, grabbed the hem of his undershirt and hauled it over his head, wadding it into a ball and using it to scrub vigorously at the sweat on his chest, arms and legs. Then he shook it out and grabbed each end and used it like a towel to buff his back. 

He sat back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. He rolled his head toward her, to find her staring at him. “What?” he asked. 

He was almost naked, so very close to naked, and those crisp red-gold curls went all the down his pecs to form a narrow line that disappeared into his briefs. And she was staring at his crotch again. 

“I’m hot,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. She deliberately avoided looking into his face. “Me, too.” He offered her his undershirt with a shrug, but she leaned away from it; she’d rather be sticky. “Where’s that padd?” she asked.

He glanced around and spied it on the floor by the doors, and reached for it. “It’s just my conn report,” he said. “Pretty boring reading.”

She grabbed it from his hand and started to fan herself with it, and he was instantly annoyed that he hadn’t thought of that himself. 

“How’d you find out?” he asked. 

She flicked him a glance. “Someone told me.”

“A friend?” 

She stared at him quizzically. “Yeah. I do have some.”

“Depends on the friend,” he muttered. 

She raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant by that. “Who told you?”

“No one. I kinda figured it out by what I overheard in the mess this morning.” And by those funny looks in the corridors and on the bridge. “Apparently we’ve been, you know, since I was in your Maquis cel. Thanks for waiting for me.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorted. 

He stared at her, offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

She started and looked a little guilty. “Well...just...you weren’t exactly, you know, back then.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, actually, I don’t know. Please enlighten me.”

She sighed dramatically. “Let’s just say you were exactly the kind of guy my mother warned me about.” _A feckless wastrel with absolutely no honor. The sort of man who would only be interested in her for what he could get, then, when his curiosity was appeased, he’d leave._

Tom stared at her, then snorted. “Sure,” he said. 

She sighed. “You’ve changed, obviously.” 

He turned his head toward her. “So what am I now,” he asked. 

She fought a grin. “A pig, remember? I told you so the other day.” Tom rolled his eyes, and looked away. “There are people who still think you’re…” She trailed off.

He’d raised a leg between them, and rested his forearm on his knee, and was tapping a discordant rhythm on his shin. He was staring straight ahead, at the ‘lift doors. “I’m what?”

“That you were never a Maquis.” She turned to look at him, and he felt her gaze, hot and accusing. “That you were a federation spy, sent to infiltrate us.”

Tom snorted. “And I did my job so well that none of you were arrested, I was. And I spent a year in jail for my efforts.” _Okay,_ he thought, _nine months, but the hyperbole sounded good._

“She doesn’t believe you were ever arrested,” B’Elanna shot back. “She thinks you were picked up by your ship and debriefed. That it was getting too dangerous for you to be in the field, and they were afraid you’d get killed before you could pass on any information.” 

_In the field?_ B’Elanna was getting all fluffed up. Her face was suffused with colour, though that could have been the heat, and her eyes were flashing. _Wowza!_

“I left to get help, remember?” But maybe she didn’t. She’d been knocked unconscious in the firefight with the Cardassians. “Ask Chakotay if you don’t believe me. You were injured; what did you think I’d do, lead them to you so they could arrest you?” He paused and shut his mouth. That was exactly what he’d done, less than a year later, when the captain had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “Whatever. Believe what you want. Or, I suppose, whatever Seska tells you.” He heard the bitterness in his voice, but at the moment he didn’t care how he sounded.

“She hates you,” B’Elanna stated.

“Ah, gee, shucks. And I was planning to ask her to the prom.”

B’Elanna didn’t understand the reference. She stared at him, and noted his anger, his irritation, and the bruise that had started to form on his jaw, where she’d hit him. “I’m sorry if I—” suddenly, he grunted and reached for one of his boots and flung it at the doors. It bounced off and smacked him in the chest. He howled. He picked it up and threw it again, and lumbered to his feet, grabbing his other boot on the way up. He threw that one too. She just stared at him. “Do you really think that will work?” she asked. Though, it might if the sensors were working and doors weren’t locked because of the power drain. She got to her feet. 

“Computer, open the fucking doors,” he growled. “Now!” This time he howled, and he flung himself against them with a thump. 

“Tom!” She gasped his name and reached for his arm, but he shrugged her off. 

“Open for me!” he yelled. And they did. About four centimetres, just enough to stick his fingers in the gap. He pulled, trying to pry the doors apart, and the muscles on his pecs and upper arms bulged with the effort. “B’Elanna, I need you!” he gasped. 

She slid under his arm and bumped him to one side with her hip. She jammed her fingers into the crack, and he positioned his hands above and below hers. She looked at him, her eyes wild, and nodded. They tugged. They pulled. They grunted and moaned and roared. The doors slid open another couple of centimetres. Air! Blessed cool air! “Tom!” Her shout was joyous!

B’Elanna lost her balance and knocked against the door with a thump. 

And there was an answering knock from the other side of the door, a little above their heads. They stared at each other, eyes huge and round, mouths open, breaths harsh.

“Hello? Lieutenant? Are you in there?” 

B’Elanna froze. “Chell?” One of the ship’s biggest gossips. And she was in her underwear. And Tom was almost naked. 

“Lieutenant Torres?”

“Umm…”

“We’re in here!” Tom called. He pounded the door with the side of his fist. “We’re in here!”

 

_Oh don't go 'round tonight_  
_It's bound to take your life_  
_There's a bad moon on the rise_  
_There's a bathroom on the right!_

 

In the end, it only took about ten seconds for Chell to get the doors open. Not nearly long enough to warn a frantic Tom, who had been kicking and clawing as his claustrophobia caught up with him, to at least put on his pants. Not even long enough for B’Elanna to find her shirt and untangle it. They were between decks, and when the doors parted four pairs of eyes stared down at them: Chell, Fitzpatrick, Harry, and Henley. B’Elanna tried to tug her undershirt down to cover her ribs and belly, but she’d rolled it too tightly and one of her breasts almost popped out the neckline. 

The six of them stood staring at each other for an agonizing beat. Finally, Harry asked, “You two okay?”

“We’re fantastic, Harry,” Tom snipped. “Pull us out!” Without warning her first, he reached for B’Elanna, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her to his chest. She squawked. Her knees banged the tube wall, and her ass slid along Tom’s pecs, to land squarely in his face. She flung her arms up, and Harry grabbed her hands and hauled her up and out. She landed in a tumble on the floor, between Harry’s legs. She spun on her toes in time to see Tom, arms through the hole, attempting to climb his way out. She shoved him back into the ‘lift. 

“The fuck?” he said. 

“Get my uniform,” she gritted. She was hunched over, curled around her haunches, arms clamped to her sides, trying to hide her nearly naked body. Tom was treated to a glorious view of her cleavage. 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, yeah.” He shuffled backward, turning awkwardly, grabbing at clothing items, and then started tossing them up toward her. Her jumpsuit sailed past her head and out the doors, and landed on Harry’s chest. 

“Umm, here,” he said, handing it to her. 

She snatched it out of his hands, grabbed her boots (fuck her shirt) and hugged them to her belly as she stomped away. She rounded a corner and dumped everything on the floor and quickly pulled on her uniform. She jammed her left foot into her boot (forget about her socks), and grabbed for the other boot and dropped it. She noticed that it was huge, and another left. _Well, fuck that, too!_ she thought. She hauled off her own boot and was tempted to throw it, but didn’t, and scurried off down the corridor to find a working turbolift that would take her to her quarters. 

“B’Elanna!” Harry chased her down and handed over her missing boot. She took it silently, put it (and the other) on her feet, and turned without thanking him. 

“What are they saying?” she asked.

“Mostly, they’re just laughing,” he answered. 

She groaned. She took off down the corridor and he chased after her. “You okay?”

“I have to pee,” she said. And she did, like...like nobody’s business. She laughed. Where the hell was the head on this deck?

~~

Tom was seated inelegantly on the floor on deck seven, just to the right of the now closed turbolift doors, still mostly naked, shivering as the (sweet, blessed) cool air hit his damp skin. He was clutching his jumpsuit to his chest and taking deep, even breaths. He was alone, the others having wandered off to their crew assignments.

Harry approached him and dropped his missing boot onto the floor beside him. “Congratulations,” he said. 

“What?” Tom looked up into Harry’s face. “What are you talking about? What did you hear?”

“Hear?” Harry asked. “Mostly moaning and groaning and thumping. What were you two doing in there?”

“Trying to get the doors open, what the hell do you think we were doing in...oh.”

Harry snickered. “Yeah. It didn't sound like you guys were trying to, well,” Harry shrugged. “So, when’s the wedding?”

“Very funny,” Tom said, attempting to pull on his turtleneck shirt. But he couldn’t because it was tiny and it had a rank bar instead of pips. He tossed it to the floor. 

“So, I hear you two have been an item for years, since back in your old Maquis days.” 

Tom grunted. He found his shirt and jammed his arms in the sleeves, yanked it down over his head. 

“You’re secretly sharing quarters.”

“Of course we are,” Tom gritted. He stood and shoved his legs into his jumpsuit pants, slipped his arms in, shrugged it over his shoulders. “You’d think I’d know the difference between her clothes and mine after all these years.” 

“You have a secret lovechild,” Harry embellished. 

Tom snorted and hauled on a boot. 

“You keep her in a secret love nest on deck fifteen.” 

Tom laughed, and headed down the corridor. 

“I hear your tenth anniversary is next Tuesday. That's what, dilithium?” 

Tom shook his head. “Bullshit, Harry. The tenth is bullshit.”

_Oh don't go 'round tonight_  
_It's bound to take your life_  
_There's a bad moon on the rise_  
_There's a bathroom on the right!_

**Author's Note:**

> Songwriters: John C. Fogerty  
> Bad Moon Rising lyrics © The Bicycle Music Company


End file.
